


Sticking to Tradition

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because We Haven't Had a Christmas Episode Since Season 3, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, Celebrations, Christmas, Christmas Party, Christmas in the Bunker, Dean is Exceptionally Soft on Christmas, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean assigns the three men to different tasks. While Dean puts himself in charge of the Christmas ham, Sam has lights, since he’s the tallest, Jack will decorate the tree (one Dean apparently bought… when, exactly?) because it’s “the one thing the kid can’t screw up”, and Cas...Cas is in charge of the pie.For Dean to entrust him with pie is an honor few men will ever get to share.The difference is Cas is going to be the first man to successfully complete his request.





	Sticking to Tradition

Someone must have added an extra “fa la la” to the ole Christmas jingle, because Dean’s exceptionally jolly this holiday season.

Not only is he stuffing stockings he’s streaming from the staircase with red ribbon, he’s blaring classic Christmas tunes on the record player in the study.

And it’s not like Cas hates it, obviously. Quite the contrary. Nothing makes him happier than Dean’s happiness. It’s just unusual. Dean doesn’t celebrate anything unless there’s a formidable excuse to drink—which, in this case, Cas supposes there is, given the eggnog sitting next to the peachy, misshapen bottle on the library table.

“Or, how ‘bout, everyone’s still alive? Right? No one’s bended ass-first for self-sacrifice in a while,” Dean adds when Cas comments on it, raising his glass, “I’ll drink to that.”

It’s not the answer Cas is looking for, but it’s one he’ll accept for now while he faces a bigger dilemma. After calling a group meeting, Dean assigns the three men to different tasks. While Dean puts himself in charge of the Christmas ham, Sam has lights, since he’s the tallest, Jack will decorate the tree (one Dean apparently bought… _when_ , exactly _?_ ) because it’s “the one thing the kid can’t screw up”, and Cas...

Cas is in charge of the pie.

Anyone else in the house wouldn’t bat an eye at the request—wouldn’t even think twice about driving to the store and getting it—but Cas is different. Cas knows the importance of this simple task. Pie to Dean is like “The Nutcracker” to classical music: It’s the central, most formative piece that holds the key to Dean’s heart. For Dean to entrust him with pie is an honor few men will ever get to share.

The difference is Cas is going to be the first man to successfully complete his request.

That being said, if he’s going to do this, it’s going to be done right: It’s going to be completely authentic.

Because Cas isn’t sure which pie is Dean’s favorite, he purchases both Honeycrisp and Granny Smith apples for an apple pie as well as fresh Amarelle cherries for a cherry pie. He also stops by the local Kinko’s to print the internet’s top voted recipes for both pies. By the time he’s back, Dean’s barely pouring the beer into the slow cooker (perks of teleportation), giving Cas enough time for a head start.

Dean glances over at Cas every so often as they work in sync to “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm” by Dean Martin, and Cas has to admit, it does feel a bit warmer in the Bunker.

Naturally, he burns both pies.

Luckily, Dean’s been out of the kitchen for the past hour, so he can’t smell the stench of saccharine sorrow rising from the charred crusts. Even the top layer the cherry pie is frowning at him.

Store-bought will have to do, he thinks, before losing his grip on the surrounding aluminum when he zaps back to the Bunker.

Conveniently, that’s when Dean pops back in to check on the roast. Instead of a Christmas ham, however, he finds Cas slinking to the kitchen floor with a defeated sigh.

“Cas… are you okay?”

“No.” Cas’s raspy voice is muffled against the arms of his trenchcoat.

“You did all this?”

Cas nods solemnly.

“For me?”

“Of course,” Cas reassures, lifting his head with a shrug. He’s amazed Dean’s nose barely wriggles when he picks up one of the burnt pies. “Except I didn’t do anything but prove how completely worthless I am.”

“Cas, what’re you talking about?”

Cas looks up and that’s when he sees it: the look on Dean’s face. It’s not bred from disappointment. Dean’s... _moved_ , of all things. “Cas.” Careful not to shake the thin coat of tears around his eyes, Dean sets one of the burnt pies back on the counter before bending to Cas’s level, “You don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” Cas responds, probably answering Dean’s question.

“How much effort you’ve put into this. How much thought.” He picks up not only the store-bought pie, but a fallen recipe. “This is the most anyone’s ever done for me. Besides, we can always change the five-second rule to five minutes. No one has to know. Sam eats lettuce anyway, and that comes from the ground.”

Despite the reassurance, doubt wraps Cas like a vine, squeezing him just tight enough to cut off all circulation from his own absolution.

That’s when Dean lends out his hand. “C’mon,” he encourages with a small sniffle.

Reluctantly, Cas accepts his hand to pull himself forward. Again, he searches Dean’s eyes for any indication of resentment, but finds only love staring back at him. He even has a small smile on his face. He reaches for something in his back pocket, and before Cas can see what it is, places it in his hand.

“Here’s a Christmas tradition you can’t possibly screw up.”

Dean releases his hand to unveil mistletoe. Cas blinks a few times. He looks up to find Dean’s face, moments earlier overwhelmed with postmarked child-like joy, sinking with shame—a mirror image of Cas’s own face.

It’s been hard, these past few years, coming to grips with his value and validity Earth. In Heaven, sure he was one of thousands of angels, reproduced for means of mass (but heavenly, always heavenly) destruction—but at least there, he was known. Some days, he was God’s Favorite. Others, he was the Rebel. But most of the time, he was the angel who raised Dean Winchester from Perdition. Since then, he’s lost himself in Dean. Sometimes, he wonders if he raised a man. Sometimes, it feels like he just stole a piece of the hellfire.

Consumed. That’s what Dean did. He consumed him. The way his glistening emerald eyes are consuming Cas right now, awaiting a response—no, not a response: validation.

Cas takes a step closer. The last time they were this close in a kitchen, Cas was threatening to end him. Not because Dean was infuriating (well… not _entirely_ ), but because that’s when he felt the first sting. Dean was changing Cas, stealing and burning a piece of him that made Cas a valuable soldier.

He places a hand on Dean’s newly wet cheek, and the last thought he has before closing the distance between them is how he’s been able to redefine the meaning of a soldier, because this—Dean’s lips sliding against his, Cas breathing his musk and tasting the rum on his tongue, which wraps around Cas’s in a grip thankfully not as strong as the vice of his arms around his back—is what he’s fighting for.

That, and the last oven timer at Wal-Mart the following day. 


End file.
